To Blame
by LeSkuh
Summary: OneShot:: Vickie reflects on her past and the reasons behind her torment of Timmy Turner. VickiexTimmy fluff. Slight mentioning of child and alcohol abuse.


**To Blame**

--Squirrel Tamer

_"As I took him in my arms he screamed I'm not insane _

_I'm just looking for someone to understand my pain..."_

--Devil in the Wishing Well, Five for Fighting

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I'm going straight to hell.

I thought I'd get that sorted out right away. I've known for a long time. I've done too many awful things to be given a place in heaven. I've done horrid things that I'm sure still affects some people even today. I now know the reason that I did those things and I'll get to that in a few moments.

It all goes back. Way back. Back to the days when I was still an innocent child. Back when my father used to beat me. Back when he used to get so incredibly piss drunk that he'd chase after me with any weapon-like object he could get his fat hands on. Back when I was too young to realize how wrong everything was. Back to when my morals and view on the world wasn't so fucked up. That changed after the first time he hit me. It's been a downward spiral ever since.

It's true that eventually my mom finally got a clue at the situation we were truly in (though only _after _the neighbors saw the bruises on my arm, realized what had been going on and called the police). Of course by that time it was too late to really piece me back together. By that time nothing would ever really be fixed. We got out of there in the end and moved to Dimmsdale. I am so glad we did. My father was the one who ordered the divorce. My mother cried. She was sad that he was going to leave her, even though he had been the one hurting her. I never understood that. I guess I still don't.

Needless to say, I was never really close to my mother. How could you get close to someone who still loved the man who screwed you up? How do you love someone who was too weak to protect her daughter?

My mother never really wanted anything to do with me, either. I'm pretty sure that she figured it was all _my _fault that he had turned into a monster and it's taken me ten years of therapy to finally be able to convince myself that it wasn't.

Things could have turned out completely different if we hadn't found out a few weeks later that my mother was pregnant with my father's second child. Part of me is grateful for Tootie, because it's quite possible that my mother might have gone insane otherwise and smothered me one night; another part of me hates her. She stole all my mother's love and affections. All of it. Starting at age seven I was completely independent. I made lunch for myself, or stole other kid's money if my mom refused to let me get food out of the kitchen on that day.

About three months after my tenth birthday something changed inside of me. It was a quick transition I think, but it was what made life bearable. I learned the importance of money and realized how easy it was to make money when you were a cute ten-year-old red head with a shitty past. One lemonade stand selling drinks for a dollar could bring in about fifteen bucks in one day. This began my first adventures of the economic world.

I saved my money, spending only what was absolutely necessary. Meanwhile the raven-haired angel got whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. I knew it was unfair, but I didn't complain. I still thought it was my fault in the first place. So I continued hurting.

At school I was mainly the quiet kid. My peers frightened me somewhat. To children younger than me I acted tough and bossy. It was easier to pretend to be strong to kids who are too little to really understand.

Years passed by and nothing really changed. I didn't have friends, and didn't really want them anyway. I still blamed myself for everything that had happened. A few days after I turned sixteen I decided to start a new business; the art of babysitting.

Timmy Turner was my first job. And my second. And my third. And many more after that. His parents seemed to go out every night and the money was just pouring in. Of course the money wasn't the only exciting thing.

There was power in it too. I could force him to do anything I wanted and he was powerless to stop me. I no longer felt like a weak little red head that deserves pity and tears. Now I was Vickie, the evil babysitter who had control over others. I was stronger than ever and I reveled in it.

I was probably the first to notice that there was something weird going on with the Timmy kid. He always carried his fish bowl around and odd things always seemed to happen, that were always kind of hazy when trying to remember what had really happened. After awhile I found myself looking forward to going over there. I enjoyed watching as the boy walked around in misery. I liked never knowing what was going to happen.

I had other customers. I baby-sat other children and terrorized them, but I had this soft spot for Timmy's house. I didn't really understand it and it scared me in a way. I loved it when he looked at me with his eyes full of terror. I loved it even more during the few times when those blue eyes were filled with a sort of friendship. I still yelled at him and called him names and did everything in my power to harm him, but it was with a softness.

I almost decided to stop doing it. I was so close to telling his parents that I couldn't be able to baby-sit him anymore, but then I realized how crazy that was. Money was money and I didn't really understand my hesitation anyway. Why should I stop doing something that was important to me?

After "the incident" I grabbed all the money I saved up and went looking for a good therapist. About a year into it I finally was able to realize why I was so apprehensive. The therapist said that it was perfectly natural for someone to hide their emotions and after all that I had been through I was bound to hide things better and more often, sometimes burying them beneath a wall of anger and hatred. It probably didn't help that the emotions I had were directed to a boy six years my junior. The therapist had a hard time telling me how to go about telling him how I felt. Eventually he told me that if it was worth anything than I could wait until it was legal. In the meantime, he had said to me, I suggest that you keep a journal to write out your emotions.

It was not a big deal anyway. There was no way in hell I would tell a soul about my emotions towards a certain ten-year-old boy. Not even after he became a legal age. I felt dirty and disgusted with myself. My therapist said that it isn't really my fault and as long as I didn't act upon my feelings then everything was okay. It didn't help. That therapist never really helped. I soon found another one, a woman, who I liked more, even though she pretty much just told me the same things the other one had. But she also knew where to poke and prod to get me to open up. She asked questions and listened and let me come up with my own theories instead of saying this is why and this is why.

Lucky that I switched doctors too. A few weeks after I left the man, word got out that he had been taking advantage of one of his underage patients.

It was a few weeks before I left for college and I found myself approaching "the incident" as I had always called it. I think she knew that something had happened. Something big and important, but we just never really reached it and she tiptoed around it instead of diving in headfirst. It made me anxious. I found myself dying to tell her what had happened, even if she probably wouldn't understand. I wanted to tell her why I never saw him anymore. Wanted her to know what I had done. I just wanted her to see how terrible was so she could get me locked up and thrown into a loony bin.

"I want to talk about..._it..._"

"What do you mean?"

I scowled darkly.

"Don't play dumb."

"I don't know what you're talking about. If you'd like to explain..."

I wanted to yell at her, because I felt like she tricked me into it. I felt forced and yet it was me who had brought it up. Instead of getting defensive, I just sighed angrily.

"He had these two fish. Except I don't think they really were fish. They didn't act like fish. He always did these things...And it felt like there was magic or something. I was babysitting one day when I decided to just barge in and start yelling. I opened the door really quick and saw him talking to these two creatures or something. They looked like humans, but they had wings and they were flying and they all looked at me in terror, and then there was a loud bang and they were gone and his face went blank, but in the instant before it went blank there was this look of absolute hatred. It made me want to cry. I couldn't take it. I ran out of the house and never went back. I'm never going back."

She didn't speak for a while and when she did she sounded unsure of herself.

"That doesn't really make sense."

"I know. Maybe I'm just insane, but that's exactly how I remember it."

"I don't think you're crazy."

"There's a first."

"You should talk to him."

"It doesn't matter. I'm leaving in a few weeks. He's only twelve anyway. He doesn't need to be burdened."

"From what you've told me, he understood some things that you didn't, even when he was only ten years old. He understood loyalty and that no one is truly evil."

"That's not the same. He was naive. That was all."

"I still think you should at least attempt to explain. It may help him. It may help you."

"He doesn't need this. I don't need this. I'm leaving for today. I have to start packing."

"Vickie?"

I stopped and looked at her. I was still very broken and no one else would really understand why. There were still things that I was unsure of and I still got defensive too quickly. I shrugged and walked out on her. I was leaving in a few weeks anyway. I could put all of this behind me.

That was eight years ago. I laugh. Eight long years. I lift my wine glass and look at my distorted reflection staring at me through the glass with sad eyes. I still haven't gotten over everything that happened. It still haunts my dreams. I still see his innocent face looking at me with betrayed eyes.

"Didn't expect to see you here."

I'm only slightly surprised to see him here. I've gotten pretty good at predicting what's going to happen in my life. I knew it was only a matter of time before we found each other again.

"What do you want, twerp?" The insult is only half-spiteful. I am too old to be really angry. Besides the wine has me feeling extremely relaxed.

"Mind if I sit down?" Why is he being so polite? Is it possible that he's forgotten? "I've always wanted to talk to you...about what happened that day." I guess he hasn't.

"Does it matter? That was ten years ago. It barely even affected me."

"I know that it affected you enough to send you into therapy."

I let out an animal growl and wrapped a hand around his throat. Like father like daughter.

"You don't know _anything_." I am shaking. Is it because I'm angry, or because I'm scared?

He firmly removes my hand from his neck and grips it tightly.

"Vickie." His voice is strong and I know he will not back down, "What the hell happened that day? I mean I know that _they _left, and I know that it was your fault." I wince, what a nice way to put it. "And I remember glaring at you in anger and I remember you running out and..." His voice seems to get caught in his throat. "I remember wanting to run after you. I saw you in pain and I...I didn't want that."

"No... Stop it..." I try to pull out of his grip, but he just squeezes my hands tighter.

"Vickie...Don't be mad...." His voice is soft. I want to give in. I just want to melt into him right now. Instead I struggle against him. _Don't say it_, I tell him in my mind, _for the love of God don't say it. I know it's a lie. I hurt you in a way that no one ever hurt you before. I was the one who made them leave you forever. Please don't say it._

"I love you."

My legs give out from underneath me and suddenly I'm sinking to the ground. He catches me in his arm and pulls me against him. I know I should struggle. I've spent the past ten years trying to pretend that I didn't care about him. Ten years trying to forget these feelings. They're wrong. All wrong.

"No...." I mumble into his chest. "You're lying. I've hurt you so much. I made them disappear. You should be blaming me and yelling at me. You _can't _love me."

"I know. I've spent the past ten years trying to understand it all. I've looked for any other excuse in the world, but I can't deny it." He lifts my chin up so that I'm looking into his eyes. "I'm in love with you, Vickie."

I feel my heart stop beating as he gently presses his lips against my own.

It's all my fault.

It was never my fault.

Either way, he doesn't care.

And neither do I.

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A/N: Eh heh heh...I'm expecting people to flame this, but I've kind of had this idea for a while and finally wrote it down. I don't think I've seen any VickiexTimmy. Of course I don't usually write for the FO section. Anyway, hope you enjoy the fluff.


End file.
